


The Other Side of the Tracks (The Right Track Remix)

by Clea2011



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camelot Remix, Depression, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-22 23:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clea2011/pseuds/Clea2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was always something missing from Arthur's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side of the Tracks (The Right Track Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nympha_Alba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nympha_Alba/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Right Track](https://archiveofourown.org/works/394992) by [Nympha_Alba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nympha_Alba/pseuds/Nympha_Alba). 



> Thank you to the lovely Celeste9 and Deinonychus_1 for the beta and the cheering♥
> 
> Dear Nympha_Alba, you said that you'd always wondered about Arthur in your lovely story. I have tried to tell his tale, I hope it fits with what you envisaged for him. I felt a little awed by your story as it's so beautiful. It reminds me a little of the Philip Larkin poem 'Here', which is a favourite of mine. Thank you for allowing me to play in your sandbox <3

It was raining, that first morning.

Arthur was late. He was never late, his father had drummed it into him from an early age that tardiness was a kind of failure all of its own. Something that he should never do.

And yet there he was standing on the platform of Maidenhead station, soaking wet and with only moments to spare before his train pulled in. He watched the heavy rain falling onto the tracks and tried to avoid the gaze of the other late commuters and the few early shoppers on the platform. That was the thing with commuting. You never made eye contact because… well, Arthur didn’t know why, he just knew that nobody did it. It was the unwritten law of commuting. And you either caught the very early train and got a seat, or would be crushed against dozens of other bodies, crammed in all the way into the centre of London. Or, if you were horribly, unforgivably late like Arthur was now, there would be another chance at a seat. Arthur knew the rules well.

His father had called it ridiculous, had told him to hire a chauffeur if he _must_ live so far from the city. But his father didn’t understand Arthur. Arthur had realised that long ago. He was lucky, he knew, to be born into money, not to have to struggle in life.

Canary Wharf was the best place to live, or so his father thought. At twenty-one, Arthur had found himself the owner of a luxury apartment there. It was a fine way to start out, mortgage-free and close enough to walk to work. The flat was large and roomy, with amazing views out across London. It should have been perfect, everything he could want. Instead it just felt cold and empty, and left him with that faint yearning for something else, something more. Something that wasn’t the city and the office and everything his father wanted for him and nothing that was really _his_.

Arthur hated that apartment. He hated London too, even though he’d lived there for as long as he could remember. No, perhaps hate was too strong a word. There were parts of it he loved. The parks, mostly. But even in the very centre of Hyde Park, he could still see the office blocks, the towers… There was always a reminder of where he was, no matter how far he went on his weekend runs.

With London it seemed you could run forever and it would never end, one suburb fading into another with no discernible difference. He kept to the parks, and tried to convince himself he was somewhere else. Arthur needed the green, needed the fresher air of the country. He yearned for it when he sat up high in the tower block that housed his father’s company. He thought of it when he flew high above the clouds in first class, heading for yet another meeting in yet another sterile city. Sometimes, if the plane flew low enough, he could see the fields and valleys below as they passed. Tiny little trees lining the roads, they didn’t even look real. It was as if someone had created a model for him to look at.

“Stop daydreaming!” his father would snap and push a dreary report into his hands. Then Arthur would look away, and by the time Arthur looked again they would be landing, heading into the new city or back into London. London was cold and grey and soulless. Dirty, too, the very air would sink into his pores and leave its grime settled within him.

Arthur felt trapped by it all. In an attempt to escape, he’d rented a cottage in a small village just outside Maidenhead. That wasn’t so bad, despite the long commute to work every day. It was far easier to leave than London. He could head for Oxford or the West Country if he had a free day at the weekend, or even Reading had parks and rivers. He could walk and find green fields, trying to ease the ache he felt in his heart. Arthur had hoped it would be enough. But it wasn’t.

It didn’t feel right. There was always something missing.

The commute wasn’t that bad, whatever his father said, not if you avoided the crowds. And trains were Arthur’s preferred way of travelling. He could sit there and switch off, watching the world hurtle past him, or just closing his eyes. It wasn’t good in the morning, catching the earliest one possible, still half-asleep. But it was like a little escape every night, leaving the city behind him. Slowly London would thin out and fade, and finally be gone. Then there would be the start of his beloved green fields, just for a short while, hints of the sort of place he went in his dreams, a knight on horseback and his squire at his side. Or at least he thought it must be his squire. The man at his side in his dream had no armour, was too poorly dressed to be a knight. Arthur thought he might like a companion like that, pale-skinned with a shock of dark hair. The man was always turning towards Arthur, just as Arthur woke up. He never quite saw the man’s face, but he had a feeling that if he did, it would be a face to remember.

There were never any faces to remember in the city. There were a million people all dashing past him, all instantly forgettable. Sometimes he felt as if he were standing still, and everyone else was racing along in a blur, like the scenery from the train window. On the concourse at Paddington Station, down the steps into the tube station, through the gates and into the tunnels… Arthur still felt as if he were one step behind them all. Out of place, somehow.

“Pay attention, Arthur!” his father would snap angrily, and Arthur knew that just for a moment he had drifted again.

He’d drifted that morning. Sitting in the kitchen of his rented cottage, holding a mug of coffee, trying to summon up the effort to put on his suit (with all those wretched buttons that needed doing up one at a time) and head for the office. Somehow, the time had passed and now he was horribly late. Far too late to rush back for his umbrella when he realised how hard it was raining, so he was also absolutely soaked.

His father was going to be livid. Of course, if he’d been at the Canary Wharf apartment Uther could have let himself in and dragged Arthur into the office himself with the key he’d kept. Or, more likely, he’d get someone else to do it. He couldn’t do that whilst Arthur was living so far out. It was a good reason to make sure this didn’t happen again, in case his father found some way to force him back.

The train pulled into the station and Arthur joined the scramble to get on board. It wasn’t particularly full but still everyone had to push and shove as if their lives depended on it. Most of the seats had already gone, but there was one in a group of four near him and Arthur grabbed it, knocking into the man sitting on the opposite seat as he did so. Muttering an apology, Arthur settled into the seat, sat back, closed his eyes and waited for the train to take him back to the place he loathed so much.

He could feel a tiny rivulet of water running down the back of his neck and was half-tempted to brave the horrors of the train toilet in search of paper towels. But the train was always overly warm and he would probably have mostly dried out by the time he reached the office. Plus he would probably lose his seat if he moved, so he stayed where he was.

The train rattled and shook as it raced from station to station. He could hear the announcer each time, closer and closer. Taplow, Burnham, Slough, Langley, Iver, West Drayton, Hayes and Harlington… Arthur didn’t open his eyes. He never watched the world outside the train window on the way in, either read the paper or tried to sleep instead. It was too depressing, seeing the fields fade away and the bricks and iron rise up, more and more of it until there was nothing else. But going home he would sit and watch as they left Burnham and see the green beginning to emerge at Taplow and know he was nearly home.

Southall, Ealing Broadway, Acton Main Line… Just a few minutes from Paddington then. Soon he would have to move, go and face his father. He opened his eyes.

The man opposite, the one he had bumped into when he’d sat down, was staring at him. He’d obviously been doing so for some time given his guilty and embarrassed start as soon as Arthur looked back at him. And suddenly there was a coffee cup flying towards him, thankfully half-empty but still Arthur barely caught it before the remnants spilled all over him. Instead there were three drops on his coat.

The man opposite was babbling apologies, grabbing back the coffee mug and waving a paper napkin around and suddenly dabbing at Arthur with the napkin. He was so flustered that he was probably going to make things worse, so Arthur snatched the napkin and cleaned it up himself. There was no stain, nothing to show that anything had happened. It was lucky he’d worn a dark coat that day.

The man opposite was still looking horrified at what had happened. Perhaps he was having just as bad a day as Arthur. Perhaps he was late too and was about to be bawled out by his boss, although his boss probably wasn’t his father. Perhaps he was just a nutter, he’d been sitting staring at Arthur, after all. But then, he didn’t look like a nutter. He looked like someone who, if Arthur had a life that allowed him time for such things, he’d like to get to know. That thick shock of dark hair, those ears that stuck out just a little too far but somehow looked just right on him, those blue, blue eyes… Yes, he was exactly Arthur’s type. But everyone always left Arthur, because Arthur just didn’t have time for a relationship, not in his job.

And then the familiar canopies of Paddington Station overshadowed everything, and it didn’t matter anyway because Arthur would never see this man again.

“I’m sorry,” the man said again as they got up, as if Arthur hadn’t already grasped the fact. “Really. I’m not usually like this.”

He seemed so earnest, so sincere, so very concerned that Arthur would go away thinking badly of him. And, Arthur thought, just because he was about to have a horrendous day there was no need to share it around.

So he smiled as they disembarked. “It’s just one of those days,” he said, and watched the relief flood across the other man’s face morphing into a huge smile of his own. It was a transformation in the tired, pale face and for a moment Arthur was struck by how attractive he found it.

And perhaps Arthur would have stayed, but it had been so long since he’d been interested in anyone that he’d forgotten what to say. And this was a stranger, it could be anyone. Could be someone from a rival company, anything was possible. And Arthur was already late.

He turned quickly, and walked towards the tube station, mingling into the crowd. Only when he got to the gate and went to swipe his Oyster card did he realise he was still holding the napkin.

\---

Uther was every bit as furious as Arthur had expected.

It sort of washed over him these days, the lectures and the shouting and the disappointed look in his father’s eyes. His sister Morgana was right, nothing Arthur did would ever be good enough for their father. Arthur had heard it all before, so many times. Now it just made him tired. Everything seemed to make him tired.

“…important meeting, Arthur. Don’t you realise that if we’re dealing with people in different time zones then we operate at a time that suits them?”

That wasn’t true. Once any deal had been signed, all meetings were carried out to suit Uther Pendragon. Arthur could recall many a bleary-eyed businessman on the other end of a video conferencing session trying to explain at what was three in the morning for them why profits weren’t as high as had been expected. No, Uther only considered the companies he bought up until the moment he had them. After that they had to bow to his will. The company in question had been meeting with Uther anyway. All Arthur would have done was sit there making up numbers.

“Yes, Father, I’m sorry I overslept. It won’t happen again.” It was almost as if someone else was saying the words.

“See that it doesn’t! Now,” Uther swivelled his monitor around so that Arthur could see it. “This is a new company I like the look of. Small, but could go places. I’ve set up a meeting for you tomorrow with the owner. We’ll invest, but get the best deal you can as I think it may take a couple of years for that one to pay off.”

Arthur gazed at the screen. GM foods again. Uther was quite fond of investing in biotechnology and never mind whether it was good for the environment. He particularly liked getting in there right at the start, encouraging research and receiving a huge payout at the end of the day. Uther was disgustingly rich, he didn’t even need to do this any more. He could retire tomorrow and live very, very comfortably on what he’d already made. But he loved what he did, loved watching his fortune grow, but more than that he loved second-guessing how a company was going to do, loved the skill of picking a rising star and reaping the rewards.

Arthur didn’t enjoy doing that at all. For one thing, he hated seeing people work so hard to succeed, then often as not find that their success was going to yield them very little profit because they’d already signed that away to Arthur’s father. Worse, Uther invested overseas, in places where there were more than questionable working conditions. Arthur had argued against it more than once, but Uther had waved his protests away.

“Spend the rest of the day reading up on the company. Everything’s in the files you’ll have been sent. As you’d know if you’d got in early enough to spend some time in your office.”

At least it wasn’t some company using sweatshops to maximise output and minimise costs this time. Uther tended to deal with those himself after Arthur’s objections had almost lost them a particularly lucrative deal.

Arthur hated his job and the city suffocated him. He gazed at the screen, not really seeing it. His father continued talking, not noticing that he wasn’t getting a response, the lecture going on and on. Arthur barely listened to any of it. It was the only way he could cope with the situation. He thought of the man on the train, and the concern in his eyes. Those blue eyes…

“…And you look a mess,” Uther finished. “Get cleaned up, Arthur. And for God’s sake, if you _must_ live out in the middle of nowhere, at least purchase a decent umbrella! Now go.”

Uther waved his hand towards the door, and turned his attention back to the computer. Arthur knew he was dismissed.

He walked back to his own office, nodding a greeting to various office staff as he passed them. His own rather wonderful PA, Gwen, took one look at his expression and hurried off to make coffee. Gwen was a life-saver like that.

She was also his sister’s best friend, and he wasn’t surprised when an instant message from Morgana popped up on his monitor almost as soon as he logged in.

_“Lunch?”_

That was what he loved about Morgana, she always seemed to know when he was low. Actually, that was almost certainly because Gwen told her. But his sister always tried to be there for him. Sometimes it felt as if she were the only person who was. There hadn’t ever been many people who were. A few, when he was a child, but they were long gone from his life now.

_“Can’t. Was in late. Father’s not happy.”_

_“Is he ever? Come on, I’ll pay.”_

As if that was a problem. Arthur had more money than he knew what to do with. He’d learned well from their father how best to invest, and was rapidly building up his savings. There was little for him to spend his money on, only the extravagance of the rented property outside Maidenhead and keeping his wardrobe smart enough for business. Morgana often told him it wasn’t much of a life, as if he needed reminding.

_“Raincheck?”_

No chance of that. His phone started ringing. One glance at the number told him that it was Morgana, as if he couldn’t have guessed. Seeing Gwen coming back with the coffee, he reluctantly answered the phone. Gwen would have made him answer it anyway. The two of them had a horrible tendency to gang up on him ‘for his own good’, or so they claimed.

“Hello Morgana.”

Gwen beamed delightedly as she set the cup down in front of him. “Say hi from me,” she called, heading back to her desk and shutting the door behind her.

“If you won’t meet with me, I’m calling you. So what happened this time?” Morgana demanded, not even bothering with a greeting.

“I overslept.”

“You have three alarms.”

“Fine. I sat in the kitchen and… I don’t know what happened. Suddenly I was late.”

“How late?”

“It was about nine-thirty when I got in,” he admitted.

There was a silence on the other end of the line for a moment. They both knew he always arrived at about seven-thirty to avoid the rush hour. He should have thought of some other excuse. She probably wouldn’t let this go.

“You sat in your kitchen for two hours and didn’t notice?” Morgana asked carefully. “Were you reading? On the computer?”

“No, I wasn’t doing anything. I don’t know… Time just got away from me.”

He could hear the worry in his sister’s voice when she replied. “I wish you’d meet me for lunch. What about dinner? I could meet you after work?”

“Morgana, I’m fine, just a little tired. I’ll have an early night, so I can’t do dinner. Maybe next week?”

“Make it sooner or I’ll come in and bring lunch with me.”

It wasn’t an idle threat, she’d done it before. Arthur reluctantly agreed to Thursday and wound up the call before she could ask any more questions. He was just tired, that was all it was.

The cup of coffee sat in front of him, slowly cooling, and he was reminded of the man on the train, and the panic in his eyes when he’d looked at Arthur. It had triggered some sort of recognition within Arthur, as if he were looking back at a part of himself. It had to be the fear, the feeling of panic. That was how Arthur felt, constantly.

He sat looking at the coffee cup, knowing he really should start reading those files.

\---

Arthur’s week didn’t improve. He hadn’t got as good a deal out of the GM foods company as his father had expected, and there had been a great deal of shouting. His lunch with Morgana had actually made him feel worse, she had been too kind, too sympathetic, too worried about him. She seemed to think he should see a doctor, that he was probably depressed, that he needed a boyfriend or at least something in his life that was more than just his job.

Arthur had heard it all before. Perhaps not the depressed part, but everything else. At least Morgana hadn’t tried to set him up with anyone again, the disaster last time seemed to have cured her of that urge. He didn’t have time to devote to anyone, started work too early and finished too late. It wouldn’t be fair.

Thursday evening proved that. It was nearly nine-thirty when he reached Paddington Station, and he was so tired he had almost fallen asleep on the tube. He had to run for the train again, barely managing to jump on board before the doors slid closed.

At least by that time the train was half-empty. Arthur slumped into the nearest empty seat and closed his eyes, relieved that the day was finally over.   There was a fifty minute train journey ahead of him with nothing to look at but the empty seat in front of him. He thought he could probably risk a nap. At worst he would travel on to Twyford and could get a taxi back if he fell asleep and missed his stop.

Arthur dozed, and dreamed of summer fields and the knight with his squire. It seemed so carefree in his dreams, so peaceful, so beautiful. And the squire finally turned to him, smiling, his face every bit as perfect as Arthur had always known it would be because Arthur’s subconscious had projected the face of the man from the train. But he’d had such an appealing smile.

“We’ll shortly be arriving at Maidenhead…If you’re leaving the train here please make sure you’ve….”

The loudspeaker startled him awake, droning on about taking everything with him and changes and other useless things. As the train jerked to a stop, Arthur got to his feet and turned to head for the door. But there, a few seats behind him, was the man from the other morning, the one who had spilled the coffee. He looked as startled as Arthur, but when Arthur nodded a greeting the man returned it, a faint blush spreading over his pale skin.

That was interesting, Arthur thought, and stored the memory away, wishing he’d noticed that the man was there earlier. He wondered if his squire would blush next time he rode through Arthur’s dreams.

\---

November faded into December, and suddenly London was full of shoppers and lights. There were far too many Christmas markets springing up, too many people walking around in garish jumpers and ridiculous hats. It was unavoidable on the evening train. Arthur hated Christmas. Hated New Year as well. Christmas was always spent at his father’s huge penthouse. Morgana would come with him for the dinner and then escape as fast as she could, off with friends or a boyfriend, or anywhere but there. She always tried to persuade him to come with her, but he didn’t really know her friends and it felt awkward, so he stayed at the penthouse. For New Year he went to the party Morgana threw, got far too drunk and woke up in her spare room with someone whose name he couldn’t even remember. It was a man with dark hair and pale skin, and Arthur _knew_ who his drunken self had been pretending that was.

It wasn’t him. The man from the train had vanished from Arthur’s life as suddenly as he had arrived. There had been no sign of him all through December, not on any of the evening trains, and Arthur couldn’t risk trying to get a later train in the morning to see if he appeared on any of those. Things were tense enough between him and his father as it was, without Arthur turning up horribly late again. Besides, it was ridiculous. They’d exchanged a few words, a look… perhaps it could even be said that they’d shared a coffee if he really pushed it. Perhaps he’d been a student, or a tourist visiting London for the week and staying on the outskirts. He could have long since gone back home if that was the case. There was no reason to believe that Arthur would ever see him again.

By the second week in January Arthur had started to resign himself to the fact that the man was just going to be a pleasant memory, a missed chance. And then, quite unexpectedly one morning, there he was on the 6.19 train out of Maidenhead, sitting in that second carriage again just like the other times, his mouth stretched open in a huge yawn.

Arthur tried not to think about how he’d like to see that mouth stretched around his cock.

There was a seat just across the aisle, facing backwards but Arthur didn’t care about that. He nodded to the man in greeting as he sat down.   The man nodded back. Evidently Arthur hadn’t been forgotten, and he was surprised at how much of a relief that was.

Every morning (except those days when he was horribly late) Arthur bought a copy of the Financial Times. It was invaluable in his business, and he’d long since learned that his father would have studied it first thing every morning and expect Arthur to have done the same. Sometimes Arthur found things that he could invest his own money in that way. Often though it was just a matter of seeing which of their stocks and shares were ready to be sold off, and which had turned in a loss after all.

That morning he couldn’t concentrate. That face, which had started to haunt his dreams… he wanted to look again. It went against the unspoken rules of commuting, but then again so did greeting a fellow commuter. And it wasn’t as if anyone would notice if he lowered his newspaper, supposedly to turn the page, and happened to look up.

The man had been staring right at him. Their eyes met and the man immediately looked away, blushing furiously. Somehow that made him even more attractive to Arthur, the shyness, the possible interest. There were the clothes too, always casual, the jeans, the slightly scuffed trainers. He looked so comfortable, so relaxed. Not like Arthur in his buttoned-up suits. The man was probably going to work, and Arthur envied him a job where he could wear what he liked, where he wasn’t constantly having to live up to a particular standard of dress. Those jeans were well-fitted, and Arthur wished the man would stand so that he could get a better look.

Arthur looked away himself, realising he too had been staring. He quickly went back to the paper, hiding behind it before someone noticed. But the man, the _squire_ (though for some reason Arthur kept thinking of his dream companion as a servant, which was all kinds of wrong) had been staring too.

The figures on the page in front of him made no sense at all. Arthur gazed at them sightlessly, his thoughts drifting to more pleasant matters. Sunlight filtering down through the trees, dappling on the neck of the horse in front of him, and at his side was his faithful companion, smiling at him, happy.

\---

After that, the man seemed to be on Arthur’s train every morning. Arthur had made a mental note to always sit in the second carriage, and it appeared to be working. He wasn’t around in the evening, but Arthur had little hope of catching him then, not with the hours Arthur worked.

They were nodding and smiling their greetings, but still hadn’t spoken to each other. Arthur supposed that the other man was shy, he often blushed when he saw Arthur, and several times Arthur had caught him staring. Arthur wanted to talk, but he was afraid to disturb whatever it was that they had.

Sitting on a train nodding at each other, afraid to speak. He could imagine what Morgana would say it was that they had. Stage fright, probably. Next time she stayed over at his and caught the train in with him she’d probably bash their heads together. He knew it, knew he should act on the attraction, but he couldn’t quite do it. What if the other man was married or something? What if he recognised Arthur, knew he was loaded and was trying to hustle him? But his smile was so sweet, and his eyes so kind… Arthur just knew instinctively that there wasn’t anything bad about the man. But the morning meetings were the only bright spot in Arthur’s life, and he was afraid to do anything that might stop them. So he smiled and nodded hello, and went to sit in a seat near enough to the man that he could steal little glances and pretend to himself that it was enough.

\---

It was the meeting at The Avalon Vineyard that finally pushed Arthur over the edge.

He didn’t like Thomas Kanan from the moment the man walked into the restaurant. There was something about him, something that made Arthur feel as if he wanted to wash after they’d shaken hands. Though from what he knew of the man’s business methods he thought he was probably right on this occasion. Arthur was starting to wonder if he should start trusting his instincts more.

The trouble was, Arthur’s instincts told him to quit his father’s business and go and find a job where he was happy. The rows he’d had with his father so far would be nothing, nothing compared to the rage he would encounter if he did that. Arthur wasn’t sure if he could cope with it. But then he wasn’t sure either if he could cope if he didn’t.

The soft drinks company Kanan had started up was certainly making a lot of money fast. Arthur had read the files, done a lot of research, and told his father that he thought they should reject the company without even bothering to meet up with the owner.

Uther had actually laughed at him. Obviously the meeting hadn’t been cancelled, and now they were drawing up agreements to invest in the company. A company that didn’t pay its workers enough to live on and was polluting the planet with its careless waste disposal.

Kanan ate fresh lobster and laughed at all Uther’s jokes. They were arranging to go and play a round of golf, as if they were the best of friends. But that was Uther’s idea of friendship, spending time with whoever could make him the most money. Arthur watched them together, looked at his father and saw what he was supposed to one day become. And it wasn’t what he wanted to be.

Finally the business lunch was over. There was more hand-shaking, and this time Arthur did go to the bathroom afterwards and wash his hands over and over. He felt sick. Tomorrow he was expected to counter-sign that contract, to put his name against something he completely disagreed with. He didn’t think he could do it.

Instead he returned to the table where Uther was finishing off his glass of wine, talking on his phone at the same time. From what Arthur could make out from the side of the conversation he could hear, he was instructing his PA to set up another meeting tomorrow and get the paperwork together to finalise the contract.

“These people,” Arthur breathed when Uther finally ended the call. “Father, don’t you care at all about what they’re doing? There’s evidence that the toxic waste from their overseas bottling plants has been polluting the soil and groundwater in these poor communities. People out there don’t have clean drinking water. How can you support something like this? How can you ask _me_ to support something like this?”

He could see the anger in his father’s face, barely contained. “We’ll discuss this later, Arthur.”

That just meant Uther would berate him in private, and go ahead with the investment anyway.

“But we can’t do this. It’s not right. His workers aren’t paid a living wage, and…”

“Be quiet, Arthur.” Uther got to his feet quickly. “As I said, we’ll discuss it later.”

“But we won’t, will we? You’ll shout, and then do exactly what you think. And it’s wrong. Those people…”

Uther leaned in, close, his face suddenly cruel and ugly in its anger. “I said be quiet, Arthur. Perhaps you need a few days’ leave and I’ll handle this myself. And then next week we’ll discuss whether you’re fit to be vice-president of my company. Because right now it looks to me as if you’re _not_.”

And that was the end of the conversation. Arthur followed Uther out, trying to ignore the way people looked at them when they passed. His father was well-known in the business world, famous even, and always attracted a lot of attention. Arthur’s protest hadn’t been loud, but he knew Uther wasn’t going to want any of the people in that restaurant to hear it.

Outside the light was already starting to fade on the winter day. Across the street there was a tube station and Arthur wondered if he should just go home now, avoid the inevitable argument in the car or back at the office.

A sudden flash of light startled him. A photographer, getting a picture for the papers. It had to be a poor month for news, Arthur thought. He followed his father into the waiting car, knowing that if he crossed to the tube station the reporter would follow him and in the end that would just cause more trouble.

In the end, the car journey was spent in complete silence. It was a different anger to anything he was used to from his father. Worse than the shouting in some ways, oppressive.

Arthur had never been so relieved to get on the train and make his way home.

\---

Morgana knew all about it, of course.

Even if Gwen hadn’t told her, their father was angry enough that he’d called her and tried to persuade her to come back to the company. But Morgana wasn’t ever going to do that. She had a moderately successful fashion business run from a small shop opposite the British Museum, and she loved it. Their father had helped her set up because he’d expected Arthur to follow him in the family business. It didn’t matter so much what the daughter did, he could indulge her when she’d said she wanted to start up on her own.

She’d called Arthur immediately, and insisted he come back into London and meet her for a late lunch. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do, so he took her up on it. There was a bistro just along the road from her shop that did wonderful food and didn’t care how long they stayed because it was a quiet afternoon and Morgana was a ‘neighbour’; anyway, Morgana only ever drank the most expensive wine on the menu. Rather like their father would, but Arthur knew better than to point that out. Most likely she also did their business no harm by sitting in the window looking stunning, but he wasn’t going to boost her ego by telling her that either.

He told her what had happened, though. All of it, including the long, long silence in the car afterwards. Morgana just poured him more wine and made sympathetic noises at appropriate intervals. She could be a vicious harpy when she wanted to be, he knew, but when he needed her she was always in his corner.

“Don’t go back,” she advised when he finished. “Do something else, anything else. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Arthur swallowed another mouthful of the wine. He was probably going to end up very drunk, he knew, but he didn’t care. It was helping, a little bit.

“Working for our father, that’s all I’ve ever expected to do. What else can I do?”

“Well, what do you _want_ to do? Don’t you have dreams?”

He looked at Morgana, at the worry drawing lines in her beautiful face.

“I have dreams,” he whispered. “I’ve always had dreams.”

“Then you should reach for them,” she told him gently, covering his hand with her own. “Here you’re just going to lose yourself, and they’ll fade away. Or worse, you’ll turn into our father. You don’t want that, and I’d hate to see it. You’re so much better than him, Arthur.”

He swallowed, touched by her kindness and the effects of the wine, and for a few moments he couldn’t respond because he thought he might cry or something. That would make a wonderful picture if there were any photographers around. He’d never live it down.

Of course, if he were no longer working with their father there would be little interest in him from the media. That had to be a plus as well.

“What do you like doing?” Morgana prompted. “There must be something other than buying stocks and shares. That’s so dull.”

And it was, really. Arthur had got good at it to please their father, but that hadn’t really worked. “I used to like, when I was younger… I liked taking pictures.”

“I remember. They were good, too. I still have that one you took of me on the bridge in Hyde Park when I was sixteen.”

It was hanging in her shop, a large black and white copy, looking like an art print.

“I’ve seen it there.”

“You never said. People ask about it, sometimes. They think a professional took it, they think it was a fashion shoot from my early designer days. So why don’t you take some more? I’ve got a new collection, you could photograph that. I trust you to do a good job. Build up a portfolio, take some time to do something you enjoy. You’re not exactly short of money, Arthur. You could even sell that sterile flat and live permanently out in the sticks, maybe settle down with someone. I can’t remember the last time you even had a date. And I’m not counting New Year!”

Arthur didn’t count it either. “There is someone,” he admitted. “Not a date, just… someone. I met him on the train.”

“Really?” Morgana leaned forward, interested. “Tell me more. What’s his name?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “We don’t talk, we just catch the same train.” He didn’t need to look at Morgana to know how her face would have fallen.

“Oh, Arthur… Tell me you don’t sit there pining over some stranger you can’t talk to.”

It was exactly what he did. She knew him so, so well. “I should talk to him.”

“Yes! Yes, you should. You should do so many things. Here, you should drink some more wine,” she refilled his glass, then signalled to the waiter for another bottle. “I can’t believe you haven’t even found out his name.”

“I will talk to him,” Arthur vowed.

“Do. In fact, we’re going to make a list of all the things you’re going to do, and I’m going to keep on at you until you do them. Number one, quit your job, sell that flat you never use and use the proceeds to set yourself up in a job you actually like.”

“That’s three things,” Arthur pointed out, but Morgana just waved him quiet.

“I’m categorising. Number two, talk to this man, ask him on a date… oh, wait, do you know if he’s gay?”

“I think so… he blushes a lot and I keep catching him looking.”

“Oh my _God!_ ” Morgana pushed her glass towards the waiter the moment he appeared with the fresh bottle. “So the pair of you are sitting there in a train carriage pining and blushing like a couple of schoolgirls? Obviously he’s your soulmate, Arthur, he sounds as hopeless as you are. Okay, number three is that you’re going to introduce me to him, that’s your challenge and if you don’t do it by the end of next week I will stalk you and find this man and talk to him myself!”

She probably would. She could be terrifying when she wanted to be.

“I will,” he gazed out of the window. Somehow the late afternoon had faded into evening. The museum tourists had gone and there were a lot fewer people on the streets outside.

And there, just across the road, coming out of the Museum Tavern, was unmistakeably the man from the train.

The surprise must have shown on his face, as Morgana instantly demanded to know what was wrong.

“That’s him,” Arthur pointed at the rapidly retreating figure. “That’s the train man.”

“You’re joking!” Morgana twisted in her seat to look, making no attempt to disguise the fact she was craning her neck and blatantly staring. But it was dark, despite the street lights, and difficult to see. “Damn!”

He’d walked very fast on those long legs and was quickly swallowed up in the night, probably heading for the tube station, then the train.

“Well?” Morgana was sitting there looking at him impatiently. “Arthur, get after him, that’s too much of a coincidence, it’s obviously destiny. Don’t sit around here. What if he meets some other tongue-tied, repressed rich boy on the way home? Go! Shoo!”

Arthur started to reach for his wallet.

“No! Don’t worry about that, you’re buying dinner next time when you can tell me _all_ about how the rest of this evening has gone. Now go after him!”

She really was very bossy, his sister. He leaned over, kissed her on the cheek and then laughed when she pushed him away. “Go, go, go!”

Outside it had grown cold and he shivered a little in the t-shirt and hoodie he was wearing. Still it felt right, felt comfortable. Morgana tapped on the window, pulled a face and made shooing gestures at him so he stuck his tongue out at her and hurried off in the direction of the nearest tube station.

Holborn was very slightly closer than Russell Square, but he realised his mistake a few minutes later when he ran onto the underground platform and saw the train pulling away. If he’d run to Russell Square instead he might have just caught it at the next stop, possibly. Still, there was time to get to Paddington before the next train to Maidenhead… just about.

The next train was only a few minutes later, but the change at King’s Cross seemed to take forever. Arthur glanced at his watch constantly. There were only minutes to spare when he pushed through the barrier at Paddington and flew across the concourse. There were so many trains to Maidenhead, and they pretty much all ended up at Twyford afterwards. The man could already be gone, his train nearly at Acton.

A whistle blew, and Arthur pretty much fell into the second carriage, just before the doors started to close.

And there the man was, dark head bent over a book, sitting nearly alone just a few seats away. Arthur smiled. Morgana was right, it had to be destiny. He dropped into the empty seat opposite, knocking against the man’s knee as he did so, the drink and his race across London rendering him a little clumsy. Perhaps it wasn’t as suave as Arthur had hoped, but it got the man’s attention.

“Sorry,” Arthur said, smiling. “And hello.”

“Hi.”

Inside, Arthur gave a little cheer at that. He’d got a response, and the man’s voice was quiet and appealing. Morgana was going to be very proud of him. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, savouring the moment and trying to think of something else to say. Perhaps he shouldn’t have had quite so much of that wine.

“A good night?”

So. Arthur wasn’t the only one who wanted to talk. That was good. That was very good. He opened his eyes and looked at the nervous, hopeful expression on the face of the man in front of him.

“Yeah,” Arthur said, and then found himself talking about the changes he was thinking of making in his life. All non-specific, because this man could still turn out to be a reporter or anything, Arthur didn’t know him and he’d learned to be wary. But there was something about the man, Arthur couldn’t put his finger on it but he felt he could trust him. He just had a feeling this was going to be all right.

“I’m Merlin, by the way,” his new friend offered, and Arthur couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Merlin. Well, when Morgana found out about that he knew he wasn’t going to hear the end of it. It really _was_ destiny.

“I’m Arthur,” he said, loving the nervous little laugh that elicited from Merlin. He seemed different to all the men Arthur had been attracted to in the past. Less confident, not so full of himself. It was all the more appealing for that. Now Merlin was speaking to him, Arthur wasn’t going to let him stop. Perhaps the wine was a good idea after all, bolstering him up, making him bolder.

“So, what do you do in London every day? You’re always in early.”

Merlin looked a little guilty, though Arthur couldn’t imagine why. The slightly shy way that he glanced down at his boots, then almost defiantly looked back at Arthur just made Arthur want him more. This was a day of changes. He wasn’t going to let Merlin get away from him, not without at least securing a date.

“I work in a bookstore. I like to get the early train, get in before it gets too busy.”

“I’m glad you do,” Arthur admitted. He had about twenty minutes left before he had to get off because this was a faster train and would miss out a few of the smaller stops. Already more time than he’d thought had passed. It was running through his fingers, getting away from him. He was out of practice at this, couldn’t think of what to say. Merlin probably thought he was some kind of weirdo. If he knew Arthur had raced across London just so he could sit there now and proposition him, or whatever it was Arthur was going to do… No, proposition was right, if he could just find the words. But if Merlin knew, he’d probably cry stalker and escape to another carriage.

Or perhaps not. Merlin looked so earnest, so hopeful. It was as if he were willing Arthur to keep talking.

“I don’t usually catch the later train though,” Merlin blurted out. “We were stocktaking.”

Stocktaking, in the pub. That was an interesting way of doing things. Arthur supposed he couldn’t let Merlin know he’d seen him coming out of the pub. Ah, what if he had a problem, couldn’t stop drinking and did everything he could to hide it. “Stocktaking?”

“And then I stopped off for a pint on the way home,” Merlin admitted, and that made Arthur feel a lot happier. He’d had enough lies and deceit for one lifetime. Merlin’s honest, open face was like a breath of fresh air.

“I’ve spent the day with my sister. She made me drink a lot of wine.”

“Made you?” Merlin raised an eyebrow. The gesture reminded Arthur of something, a memory, a childhood friend long since lost.

“She’s bossy,” he smiled. “Very. She’s been helping me make decisions.”

“So are they yours, or hers?”

Arthur leaned back in his seat, regarding the man in front of him. “Mine, definitely mine. She happens to agree with them.”

He really did like the way Merlin smiled.

And then, what seemed like only a few minutes later, the conductor was on the loudspeaker, letting passengers know they were approaching Maidenhead already. How had that happened so quickly, Arthur wondered? It was now or never. He wished he’d had more wine.

“Merlin,” he said, leaning forward so that the man at the other end of the carriage wouldn’t hear. “If I miss my stop now, will you offer me a place to sleep?”

He watched the words sink in, saw the surprise on Merlin’s face, saw him blushing an adorably deep red, flustered. It was going to be a no, but it was almost worth it just to see that.

And then, barely audible, Merlin whispered “Yes,” and again, in case Arthur hadn’t heard. “Yes.”

Arthur stayed where he was, leaning close, and kept his gaze on Merlin, as if his prize might slip away if he stopped looking.

The train stopped, and Arthur still stayed right where he was. It might just be a one night stand, and Arthur hoped to god it wasn’t, but it still felt a little bit like destiny.

\---

He dreamed.

It had always been the same dream, the knight and his squire riding along a forest path. Even when the squire had turned towards him with Merlin’s face, there had never been anything more to it, nothing else happened. Arthur wasn’t surprised to have that dream again. He’d had it so often that he actually knew he was dreaming, despite the confusion that came with sleep.

The squire turned and smiled, as he always did. And then suddenly they weren’t in the forest any more, they were sprawled on a bed, a huge old-fashioned four-poster with red and gold hangings, just lying there, naked and post-coital, gazing at each other. And that seemed very, very familiar, as if it was something that had happened on hundreds of mornings. As if it were something that happened every morning.

Arthur smiled, and closed his eyes, happy. He opened them again, just to make sure that pleasant new twist to the dream was still there.

It was, but Arthur was awake, and the room was dark. Beside him, Merlin’s breathing was deep and steady in his sleep. He had one arm flung across Arthur’s chest, and Arthur recalled the weight of that from the dream. Arthur knew the dream had probably just been him projecting what had happened, but he didn’t care.

They’d barely talked on the train, or walking back through Twyford to Merlin’s small flat, both nervous and easy in the other’s company at the same time. And then there hadn’t been any need for words, and perhaps there still wasn’t. Arthur had never felt so comfortable, so at ease with anyone before. He’d never felt so attracted to anyone before either.

It felt so right, he felt so strongly that he already knew Merlin. The man would probably laugh at him if he admitted it, but it had been a day for admitting things, for starting to make a change. Arthur was sure it was going to be a good change. He hoped it was going to be a permanent one.

Perhaps it hadn’t been the dream that had woken him though. His bladder was urgently telling him he’d drunk too much during the day. He couldn’t stay there, warm and comfortable as it was with Merlin’s arm draped over him. Carefully Arthur tried to extricate himself without waking his partner. But as soon as he started to move away, Merlin shifted closer in his sleep. When Arthur tried again Merlin gave a little whine of dissatisfaction, starting to wake.

“Don’t leave.”

That was what Arthur had wanted to hear, been waiting to hear. He had no intention of ever leaving. It was probably too soon to tell Merlin that though. “Bathroom,” he explained instead, unable to stop the delighted smile that broke across his face. This wasn’t going to just be a one night stand, he was sure of it. He slid out of bed, fumbled his way across the room and out into the hallway beyond, mercifully finding a light switch out there before he tripped over something.

Merlin’s flat was small and messy. It looked lived in, in a way that Arthur’s Canary Wharf apartment never had and never would. Arthur didn’t really know how to be messy. When he found the bathroom, he realised that Merlin _really_ knew how to be messy. But he could live with that.

On the way back Arthur saw there were a couple of photos on the small bookcase in the hall. One was of Merlin as a little boy with a sweet-faced woman who could only be his mother. They were on a beach somewhere, Merlin proudly holding up a bright red bucket. The other picture was just of the woman, older, outside a cottage somewhere. Arthur envied her the trees and fields he could see in the background, envied Merlin the loving look that his mother was giving him, assuming that he was the one who had been behind the camera. Arthur had never known his mother.

But it wasn’t time for such melancholy thoughts. He put the photo down, knowing he would probably meet her one day, see those trees and fields for himself. Perhaps eventually she would even smile at him like that. He had a whole new life opening up for him, and he was sure that Merlin would be right at the centre of it.

Quietly, not wanting to disturb his lover again, Arthur flipped off the light and crept back into the bedroom. He slipped back into bed, freezing when there was a slight hitch in Merlin’s breathing. But Merlin didn’t wake a second time, just snuggled closer in his sleep.

Arthur lay awake, listening to his partner’s breathing, feeling it warm and gentle on his neck.

Tomorrow, he knew, was going to be a good day.

 

 


End file.
